All the light we can see

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” John 1:5

I love the light.

I love how it transforms things all around us.

How flowers bloom in the sunlight, brightening the grey streets and bare trees, reminding me that Spring is truly on the way.

How sunlight, even through closed windows, makes me feel warm in a way quite unlike anything else.

How it transforms everything it touches.

How it makes me feel like I just want to hit the beach (even when it’s March and I’m in a land-locked country.)

How fireworks turn darkness into a canvas for awe and wonder.

How light enables us to capture images of beauty, wherever we are, whether it’s people we love, things that make us laugh, or incredible natural wonders.

How the sunrise represents a brand new start, a new hope, a new opportunity to experience God’s goodness.

I was reminded of this viscerally while celebrating Christ’s resurrection at dawn this Easter Sunday. As the sun rose over Letná Park, the rays broke through the trees (and eventually the fog) to flood the city with myriad shades of light. Even though we were all shivering, the sheer wonder of the vistas opening before us were cause for great joy. Just as Jesus is victorious over darkness and death, darkness we are constantly reminded of in these times of fear, the dawn is victorious over the darkness every single morning.

Even if the view isn’t as spectacular as it was in the park, the dawn is inevitable.

Even when we lie awake full of anxiety and fear, the dawn is inevitable.

Even if the darkness feels so deep and so long, like a winter night, the dawn is inevitable.

Christ has risen. The darkness is defeated. The light I can see reminds me of this. It reminds me to love boldly and fiercely, it reminds me to laugh, it reminds me to cry with those in pain. It gives me hope. The dawn is coming and the darkness cannot overcome it.

The dawn is all the more amazing after the dark and cold nights of winter, just as the great dawn to come should seem sweeter in these dark times of fear and hurt. May I remember that when the sunlight isn’t shining. May we all.

As Spring truly takes hold and the days are more filled with beauty and wonder, as the trees blossom and the beach calls, I pray that I remember the wonder of dawn on that cold morning. How the darkness was defeated, how it gave me hope.

Teenagers aren’t that scary really

A union jack onesie. Rain. Two hundred sausages. Drizzle. Bakewell puddings. Damp.

I have had the pleasure this weekend of serving as a cook on the church youth group weekend away to the rainy/damp/drizzly Peak District. Along with a couple of buddies I had to cook for 15 or so teenagers, as they spent time studying Romans 12/having lots of crazy fun.

Aside from the fact that I don’t think I’ve worn so many layers inside in my life (it got so bad I invested in a charity shop onesie), it was a brilliant weekend. I’m not sure why but I often find teenagers rather intimidating and came to the startling realisation this weekend that they are, in fact, people. Funny, slightly younger, sometimes stubborn, often lovely, people.

Not sure where this realisation will take me. But I am just thankful for the chance to serve them and their lovely leaders too. And I pray that I would be able to serve them again, God willing.

“We have different gifts,according to the grace given to each of us. If your gift is prophesying, then prophesy in accordance with your faith; if it is serving, then serve; if it is teaching, then teach; if it is to encourage, then give encouragement; if it is giving, then give generously; if it is to lead, do it diligently; if it is to show mercy, do it cheerfully.” Romans 12: 6-8

Also, I was given the chance to stand for two hours in Bakewell while dressed as Robin Hood, so that’s a new experience I can treasure.